


Crash Cute

by Airdanteine



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Car Accidents, M/M, Nursing, Tumblr: JayDick Flash Fanwork Challenge, jaydick-flashfic: romcom meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 18:03:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20821526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airdanteine/pseuds/Airdanteine
Summary: No Capes AU, Rich Billionaire’s adopted son Dick drunk drives and crashes into mysterious and rugged Jason. Cue Dick guiltily trying to sugar daddy Jason, and Jason being angrily offended about it. They find compromise in Dick (drunkenly) nursing Jason in the middle of the road.For JayDick Flash Fanwork Challenge.





	Crash Cute

In the grand scheme of things, those being adopted by Billionaire Bruce and all the luxurious affectations that followed. Dick did not intend to actually become one of those rich boys that drove drunk and crashed expensive sports cars into other people. 

“Shit,” Dick mumbled, mouth smothered by air bags. His fingers still clutched the steering wheel, softly shaking in the aftermath. The middle of the hood of his pretty, champagne gold Porsche crashed into a lamp post, metal curling around it. The lamp post itself broke clean off the base at impact, leaned and crashed light-first into an alley wall. Sparks were still flying. 

Dick watched embers fade to the ground as his head throbbed. Migraine and nausea curdled into one another, incapacitating him with a dreary bout of sickness. He couldn’t tell if it was the impact or tequila. Feeling something threaten to come up his throat, Dick wildly grasped for the door handle, ripped his seat belt off and emptied his stomach onto the pavement. 

A distant moan. Dick couldn’t tell if it was him, or someone else. Someone else.

“_Shit,_” Dick spat as he climbed out of the car. Of course. Dick had distinctly watched a motorcycle fly across the sky, before he himself ate shit. Dick’s door led out the other side, but could still see a man writhe on the road through his cracked windows.

Dick lost any motion of rational thought. With a swift jump, he grabbed onto the roof of the car, and vaulted over it. The soles of his Prada shoes skidded across the rough road. _Don’t die because of me_, Dick thought, the eight-year-old within him pleading with hands clasped. _Not again._

Leather smoked against tar, the man's groans deep grumbles, yet tinny with pain. Dick pulled at the hems of the man’s jacket as he settled by his side, trying to get him to roll onto his back. 

"Hey, I got you-" Dick froze mid sentence, as handsome, bloodied face was revealed to him. Scraped high cheekbones and split full lips. Even with drool and blood and everything nasty dripping from his face, the man somehow retained his attractiveness. It was fucking incredible.

"Fuckin' hell," the man below him wheezed, coughing wetly a few times before opening his eyes. Sea of green-blue stark against his blood-washed face. Dick flushed. 

Those eyes surveyed Dick for a moment, before darting to the wreckage. Panic was immediate.

"My bike!" The man yelled, scraping and stumbling to his feet. It was like he was magnetically drawn to the wrecked metal, disregarding a very obvious ankle injury to haphazardly limp and flail toward his bike. 

"Careful!" Dick yelled as the man took an ambitiously far stride and immediately sunk to the ground. Dick ran toward him–only to veer dangerously to a side. Right. Dick was still very far from sober. Whatever acrobatic instinct within Dick kept him from kissing tar, as he slowly reconfigured himself to walk safely to the distraught man.

"YOU DICKHEAD!" the man growled, now on his knees, hands clenching on his hair and eyes wildly darting between the poor bent bike and Dick. _You’re more than right,_ Dick thought to himself, the joke private and dripping with malaise. 

"I’m so sorry,” Dick barely spoke, voice quiet in remorse. He held his hands up as he lowered himself beside the man, who was busy tracing every bit of twisted metal with his eyes. Was it terrible, that Dick found his soul lift with how moonlight glinted across the sharp edges of his face? How a tuft of white, rogue hair looked pretty with its tips stained with blood? Or how the split lip, the ugly, spotty scrape wounds across his jaw and cheek only added to this stranger’s rugged mystique? 

Perhaps the ethicality behind self-reconciliation through witnessing aesthetic pain wasn’t the problem here. Rather, again unable to control his own movements, Dick had shot his hand out to wipe a smidge of blood off the man’s chin. The man was startled, darted his head back to avoid touch. Tequila, never again. 

“Ah! Uh. You’re hurt,” Dick blurted, unable to keep even lie his way out of that. The man seemed less imperious now, more confused, staring at Dick’s still hovering hand. Dick quickly pulled it away, letting the man back up a bit and look over himself. The jacket and jeans were scuffed too, some blood on the knees peeking through the denim. Dick was likely right that his right ankle was twisted. Otherwise, it looked like the bike and his face took the brunt of impact. Concussion was possible.

“I’ve got a first aid kit in the boot,” the man mumbled, sounding hoarse yet strangely calm. Dick stared as the other slowly crawled toward the cracked open bike boot. Surely the man wouldn’t just...patch himself up with a few plasters and go home? 

“What? You need an ambulance–”

“NO!” the man’s voice was thunderous, intent on scaring Dick. _Please,_ Dick scoffed, used to Bruce’s coping tempers. 

“Why the hell not?" Dick raised his own voice, looking right at that split open lip. That required professional stitching, no matter what. The man glared at him, eyes fiery. Dick only stared steadily back. The man opened his mouth, closed it, shifted around a bit before opening again.

“I. I-I don't have insurance,” the man mumbled, seeming sheepish. Ahh. Yeah, the privileges of insurance for the poor here in beautiful Gotham. Dick could vomit, if his empty stomach would let him. Well, with Dick, money wasn’t a problem, was it?

“It’s fine, I can pay for it,” Dick spoke, finally determined. It was the one way he could truly help. It would require a worldwide market crash for either Dick’s trust fund or Bruce’s mass wealth to not be able to pay off any of his possible bills.

“No,” the man growled again, brows drawn together and set in determination.

“Or, we could get a free clinic,” Dick sighed, unsure what this display of machismo was for. Was he under witness protection? Was he on the run? Was he some Gotham wacko criminal who’d be arrested the moment his ass left the gurney?

“Leslie’s got other shit the deal with,” the man grumbled, and Dick’s ears perked in familiarity. Leslie? Right, Bruce’s mother’s friend, doctor and Gotham samaritan. Heavily overworked. Leslie may be the best, but Dick was sure there were many other doctors he could line pockets to keep identities secret, if it meant getting treatment for this hot but very stubborn and possibly concussed man.

“Like I said, any treatment can be-”

“I know you can fucking pay for it,” the man spat, venom lain thick on his tongue. Dick wasn’t too surprised, nor perturbed. What was more jolting was the whisper under the man’s breath that followed. Something that sounded like _“pretty rich white boy.”_

“I’m brown,” Dick retorted under his breath, well practiced words slipping out before he could stop. It was the man’s turn to look caught in place. A strange touche. Dick shrugged. Still three out of four.

“Well,” Dick sighed, and mosied closer to tug the small first aid box from the man’s hands. He cracked it open, looking at its contents. All intact with all needed apparatus available, including a suture kit. Not that Dick’s shaky drunk hands could do anything but...they’d figure it out.

“What’s your name?” Dick asked as he picked up a cotton wad in one hand, and . The man sucked his breath, sizing Dick up.

“Jason,” the man finally said, shoulders slightly lowering. 

“Well Jason. I’m gonna be paying for a lot of things today, like a tow and a new bike. Don’t,” Dick made a pointed jab at the man, unwilling to hear any other arguments. “If you don’t wanna go to the hospital, or the free clinic. I could uh. Help,” Dick’s voice wavered at the end, holding up the suture kit. Jason looked a little wary himself.

Oh, whatever. They’d get it done with.

~

“We can’t get to ya till dawn,” a gruff, thick Gotham accent (not dissimilar to Jason’s) drawled at the other end of the line. Dick rubbed a thumb to his temple, trying to stop himself from pulling a Bruce and exerting his rich bitch privileges. 

“Fine,” Dick hissed, and hung up. Jason just sat there, face screwed like Dick had shat all over his lawn. Dick sighed. This game of pull and tug was only about to begin.

Dick wouldn’t let Jason near the kit, bodily blocking it. Dick had to admit thought, his ability to keep his hands straight were nigh impossible. Or at least when he was concentrating on keeping his hands straight, he wasn’t focusing on keeping his body upright, swaying or bending to a side. Dick was a floppy drunk.

With a grave sigh, Jason remedied by holding Dick by the small of his back, allowing Dick to stably tend to the scrapes and cuts. Finally, Dick got to cleaning the wound, applying ointment, bandaging or wrapping gauze. The entire right side of his face was plastered. And was it just Dick, or was Jason pulling him closer and closer?

“Oh, Nurse Dickie can’t do my stitches?” Jason teased with a lopsided, bloodied grin as Dick gingerly held a small needle.

“I don’t know how to do ‘em!” Dick laugh-whined, allowing Jason to pry it from his hands (_very rough hands, mind you,_ Dick thought. _Umph._) Watching Jason have a turn at struggling to feel around for where the split was, Dick got the sense to pull out his blush compact to flick open the inbuilt mirror. He held it in front of Jason, who peered with a bemused smile.

The stitches were much, much neater than Dick predicted. Questions of Jason’s life and identity bounced around in his head again. All Dick could surely do then, however, was to softly brush his thumb against Jason’s jaw, comforting Jason everytime he made a pained face.

“I betta’ test it out,” Jason spoke as he finished with a tie and a snap, tossing the needle to pull Dick closer with one fell swoop.

“Wha–” Dick caught his breath as Jason’s lips pressed against his own. Dick could taste blood, and his tongue felt the ridges of stitches, but otherwise it was magnanimously pleasant.

“I crashed your bike,” Dick whispered once they broke apart, but making no move to separate themselves.

“I know. I’m mad about that,” Jason mumbled against Dick’s lips, before going in for another kiss. A soft, gentle press. Dick indulged in it, pressing deeper and deeper with every following kiss, careful to not snap the stitches.

When dawn broke, they could no longer afford to sit in the middle of the road, finally shifting to the cover of a nearby alleyway. Dick checked his phone to note an update that the tow was coming, switched it off, and pressed Jason against the brick wall for more barely-careful making out.

Minutes passed, and the choppy baritone of a tow truck engine rang in a distance, spluttering to a stop behind them. Dick had to admit he wasn’t paying too much attention to his surroundings, only separating them last minute. His one solace was that Jason wasn’t so coordinated either.

“Uhh. Well hey, Mr. Todd,” said the tow man, as he jumped off his truck. Dick squinted. Mr. who?

“Hey Frank,” Jason extended his arm, and hands shook. 

“What?” Dick blurted, eyes darting between them. 

“I’ll just uh, drop it in your uh, yard then?” Frank readjusted his hat, looking sheepish.

“You do that.” Jason smiled, and that was that. Frank walked off to hook and tow the Porsche first. Dick felt like that lady with calculus floating around her field of vision. 

“I can give you a ride, sir?” Frank asked once he was done loading, looking at Jason and pointing at shotgun. 

“Naw. Gotta get this one home,” Jason smiled as he looped his arm back to smack Dick on the ass. Dick yelped, both offended and turned on. Frank hid his face with his hat to hide a sheepish smile, and went on his business. Some strange power-play happened here, and Dick couldn’t for the life of him figure out what was going on.

“You have a scrapyard business but no insurance?” Dick asked as they turned toward the main road, cars honking at a distance. 

“It’s complicated,” Jason murmured, and something told Dick he shouldn’t dig any further. 

“Told you I shoulda called the tow,” Jason continued, breaking the silence. “I’m lucky Frank showed up, or he woulda towed somewhere else. I gotta double his tip though.”

“I’m paying for that,” Dick resolved, wanting to do more than sloppily cleaning Jason’s face and call a tow.

“No!” Jason gruffly yelled, though there was now some laughter in his voice.

“And I’m calling you an Uber,” Dick continued, enjoying this.

“Stop–”

“I DON’T CARE ABOUT HOW MYSTEEEERIOUSS YOU ARE,” Dick burst out as they hit main street, enjoying how embarrassedly amused Jason looked. Dick felt some people stare, others taking out their phones to snap pictures. That was normal, at least. 

“Use my money!” Dick continued, tapping a finger at his head, indicating that would be a smart decision. Jason shook his head as he chuckled, but not outwardly disagreeing. Dick took it as a concession, and pulled out his phone to call an Uber. 

“Jason, what’s your address–”

“HEY MISTER TODD!” someone yelled in a distance, and Dick traced the source of sound to find a taxi driver across the road eagerly wave from his cab.

“Hey Jeremiah,” Jason waved back. Dick blinked again, caught unawares for the second time. Who the hell was Jason?

“Need a ride?” the cabbie yelled as he started his engine again, presumably to u-turn to their side of the road.

“This one does,” Jason again slapped Dick’s ass, and Dick could hear several clicks of phone cameras go off behind him. 

“What the fuck?” Dick whispered, glaring at Jason from the corner of his eye. Jason only grinned that lopped grin again, turning Dick bodily to face one another.

“Get home safe,” Jason softly spoke, giving Dick a chaste kiss. Dick felt himself cool down, giving into the pleasure. 

“I’m still buying you a new bike,” Dick pouted as they parted, and Jason seemed to melt a little at that.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Jason dropped his eyes, and Dick swore saw a tinge of blush on Jason’s cheeks. Finally. Dick got to splurge.

“Does Porsche make motorbikes? We’re getting one–”

“Dick, please–”

“I have your number!” Dick yelled, waving his phone in the air as the taxi slowed beside them. Dick reached to open the door handle, but looked back. Dick stepped forward to give Jason another blistering kiss.

“I’m sorry,” Dick sighed again, feeling like between all the arguing and nursing, Dick didn’t quite apologise right. It’s been a weird past few hours. All Dick was sure of, was keeping his lips off the damn alcohol. And hopefully on Jason.

“I know,” Jason whispered back. Was that forgiveness? Dick felt the feeling coat his heart, its weight settling strangely onto him. Dick would have to figure it out later. With Jason. Hopefully.

Dick finally got into the cab, waving away at a very bandaged, but handsomely blushing Jason. He finally settled into his seat, thinking about all the _other_ expensive things he could get Jason. 

In any case, that was one hell of a way to meet cute.

**Author's Note:**

> I wonder who Jason is ;)
> 
> You liked this? Do kudos, leave a comment, or check me out at [airsart on tumblr!](https://airsart.tumblr.com)


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